109 - “Jabbing the Hornet’s Nest” - Eddiwarth - A Tale of Heroes

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Eddiwarth walked with careful steps down the hallway to the library, trying hard not to spill either the ale in the tankard in his left hand, or the food piled up in the plate in his right. After the meal, he had put a plate together to take to Thissraelle. He wasn't sure what she would want from the meal, so he had just loaded it up with a bit of everything. He had wanted to take it to her, but she hadn't been in their dormitory. DeFrantis had said that she would sometimes spend the evening in the library with Granthurg.

Granthurg? Eddiwarth actually snorted. Why Granthurg? I'm a handsome guy, aren't I? He held up the tankard to his face to try and check his reflection. The curve of the cup made his nose look really big. He snorted again. Well, anyway, I am! Besides, I'm an elf. Well, half of me is, anyway...

In a moment, he stood in front of the door, and suddenly realized that he couldn't open it with his hands full. He tried to shift either the plate or the huge mug into one of his arms, but quickly abandoned that idea. Shaking earth, how am I going to do this?

Balancing for a moment on one foot, he tentatively raised the other to tap his shoe on the baseboard of the door. It banged loudly, and he almost lost his balance in surprise. Oop! Too hard!

He heard familiar heavy footballs behind the door, and it opened quickly with a short squeak. Granthurg stood there, towering over Eddiwarth.

Eddiwarth smiled with a bit of embarrassment and held up the food. “Hi! Sorry to bother you. Is Thissraelle in there?”

Granthurg smiled down at him and stood aside. Eddiwarth stepped in, glancing around the room. She was sitting in one of the large, comfortable chairs deep in the long library. She slouched low, unlike her normal high, straight posture, and her eyes were full and even a bit red, and hidden behind a bit of her white hair. Near where she sat was a table covered in books and scrolls. The yellow sun of the early evening was gradually turning red, and shone through the windows, keeping the room well-lit.

Eddiwarth hesitated, taking in a sharp breath, then walked up and showed her the meal. “We missed you at dinner. Are you hungry?” She looked up at him and managed a sort of half-smile. He held the plate for a moment, but she didn't stand, so he looked for a place to set it. He nudged a book aside with his elbow, clearing a space on the table, then set his burdens down. Granthurg hurried over to move the books away from the possible spill.

“Karendle's not up here, either, huh?” Eddiwarth asked. “She wasn't downstairs in your sleeping room. I checked for you there first.”

Thissraelle and Granthurg glanced at each other, then back at Eddiwarth.

“What?” He asked, “Where is she?”

Thissraelle dropped her head. After a pause, Granthurg explained, “Karendle left today.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she and Thissraelle had another argument, and she picked up her things and left. I guess she’s heading back to Twynne Rivers.”

Eddiwarth was surprised. But then, they’re constantly bickering over things; magic, duties, room space... Maybe I’ll finally get some time with just Thissraelle. He strode over to the chairs and dropped into the one next to her. “So, did you finally drive her away?”

Thissraelle looked at him, her brows knit and her eyes wide and a bit firey.

Oh, no. What did I just say?

“I didn’t drive her away!”

“Well, you two are always mad at each other!”

Thissraelle gasped. “I’m trying to help her!” She stood up, bending over Eddiwarth. He sank down low in the chair, avoiding her glare.

“Yeah, well, it didn’t seem to be working out...” he stammered, shielding himself, “I mean, didn’t she say she was trying to capture you?”

“SO WERE YOU!” She was close, shouting in his face.

“Yeah, but, I apologized...,” he mumbled.

She grunted with frustration and turned her back, looking at Granthurg for support. He only shrugged and gestured at Eddiwarth. Thissraelle shook her hair. Her hands tensed in fists at her side.

Eddiwarth took in a breath to try and break the unnatural silence. He sat up a bit, then suggested, “I brought you some dinner...”

“Oh, by the Creator--” Thissraelle hissed, and strode out of the library. The door swung loose after her.

Eddiwarth lowered his arms, and glanced down the narrow library, then looked up at Granthurg. The giant raised an eyebrow and folded his arms before him.

Eddiwarth stood up and straightened his shirt. “That didn’t quite play out how I’d planned it.”


The End of Part 8

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108 - “Empty Chairs at the Table” - Eddiwarth - A Tale of Heroes

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The brothers of the monastery had been in a happy, celebratory mood. It wasn’t often that there was an occasion for such a big meal. Not that any other meal wasn’t time for good company. The abbey wasn’t one of the harsh, austere orders, with oaths of poverty, silence, and sorrow. Still, tonight’s feast was particularly brisk with laughter and conversation. The Father Abbott led the feast, frequently calling for more trays of the venison to be brought out, and praising the brothers that had roasted them.

Eddiwarth ate, and even enjoyed the food. He’d helped prepare it and serve it, as it was his turn for kitchen duty. Not that he’d had an important role. He had mostly just peeled potatoes and carrots. Slicing the onions had proven to be a particularly emotional experience, or at least so the brothers had teased.

Where could she be? Every time there was any kind of motion near the main door of the hall, Eddiwarth’s head snapped to look. Each time, he was disappointed. Either a monk was just walking past it, or someone was leaving to do an errand for the Father Abbott.

He stared down into his almost empty bowl, wondering.

“More ale?”

He didn’t respond at first, not realizing someone had spoken to him.

“Hey!” someone nudged his shoulder. Eddiwarth looked. It was Granthurg. “More ale?” he said, offering the pitcher.

Eddiwarth shook himself back to the moment. “Sure,” he responded, but without enthusiasm.

Granthurg set the pitcher down in front of Eddiwarth, and pushed his chair back, getting ready to stand. Eddiwarth looked around, suddenly aware that dinner was ending, and many of the brothers had gone on with their evening. The monks of the day's kitchen crew were starting to gather plates and the meal’s remnants. He hadn’t even noticed that Antonerri and DeFrantis weren’t sitting there any more. He reached and picked up the pitcher that Granthurg had left, but didn’t pour. He set it back down.

“She didn’t come.”

Granthurg paused, not hearing. “What?”

“She didn’t come to dinner.”

“Who? Thissraelle? Karendle? No, I didn’t see either one.” Granthurg stood. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I guess not. It’s just that...”

“What?”

I wonder what happened. I guess it’s not so strange that they would miss a meal, but... Eddiwarth looked around, then finally stood. One of the monks nudged him, gesturing toward the table and the plates. He nodded and began his cleanup duties. Granthurg shrugged, slapped him on the back, and left the table.

I hope nothing’s wrong. Maybe I’ll make her a plate after cleanup. He pushed back his own chair and began stacking bowls from the table around him.

<<<>>>

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107 - “Late to Dinner” - Eddiwarth - A Tale of Heroes

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“Dinner’s ready!” Eddiwarth proclaimed, bursting through the door from the kitchen. “Roast venison with potatoes and cabbage!” His thin, mostly elvish frame was covered in a long apron, which was damp, dirty, and scattered with vegetable peelings. He had pulled his hair back to keep it out of his eyes, and out of the food as he’d worked. In his arms, he carried flat baskets full of bread loaves into the large hall and set them on the table. Behind him came several of the brother monks bearing steaming trays and bowls full of meat and vegetables. The final two brothers brought out pitchers of ale.

The other brethren of the order sat, eagerly waiting, on either side of the long table. Next to them were Granthurg on one side, and Antonerri and a very tired DeFrantis on the other. Eddiwarth pulled his chair up next to Granthurg, between him and the monks.

“Venison!” The Giant shouted, taking a deep smell as the tray of seasoned meat was carried past him. “What’s the occasion?” The brothers set the trays and bowls on the table, then turned to retrieve more.

One of them paused on the way. “It’s the feast of St Ivarr! Our Father Abbot will be celebrating a special Mass at midnight, but now, we feast!” He hurried after his companions, to bring out more food.

Granthurg looked quizzically at one of the monks seated next to Antonerri. “Who was St Ivarr?”

The brother smiled broadly. “He’s a Defensor Creator, or a Champion of the Creator, and the patron saint of our order! Once a year we celebrate his great sacrifice by feasting, prayer, and a special service in the chapel!”

DeFrantis looked confused. “A celebration? Nobody mentioned this before!”

“Oh, yeah.” Eddiwarth jumped in, “While we were making dinner, the brothers were all talking about it. I guess he’s kind of an unpopular saint.”

A brother said, “Many, many years ago, he saved the Church of Three Lights from an evil demon who was trying to take it over! He died fighting for the Lights.” Antonerri’s eyebrows rose in interest, before the monk continued, “But in recent years, the church councils and archbishops have kind of disgraced him, swept him aside. But we, here, in the woods... We remember what he did. So, we don’t make a big fuss about it, but we feast!”

Eddiwarth smiled, shrugging. “So, what is he the saint of?”

The Father Abbot and his assistants entered the dining hall, brown robes flowing. In instant, everyone jumped to their feet. As he rose, the brother whispered with a smile, “He’s the patron saint of heretics!”

The monks all stood with their heads bowed and their hands before them in a praying posture with the right hand’s palm cupped over the back of the left. Antonerri did it as well. After a moment, DeFrantis joined them.

The Father Abbot began pronouncing a blessing in a language Eddiwarth didn’t understand. Eddiwarth glanced over at Granthurg, who simply bowed his head. They were guests of the monastery, and were not required to participate in the rituals, but sometimes Eddiwarth wondered. Does Granthurg actually believe in The Creator? Maybe he’s just being respectful. Antonerri obviously does. He goes right along with it all. DeFrantis, I don’t know. 

The priest finished the prayer, and pronounced, “Salvator, Servus, Sui.” As each of the words was spoken, the monks held their right palms forward, first, before their heads, then to the right and slightly lower, and finally, with the final word, to the left and just a bit lower still, mimicking the placement of the three lights in the Church's heraldry. Eddiwarth watched as Antonerri followed the pattern. Yeah, he believes it, that’s for sure. I wonder if--Wait--Where’s Thissraelle?

The ritual complete, all of the monks sat and began sharing the food around the tables. The friends did also, except for Eddiwarth.

“Hey, where are the other two girls?” He pointed to the empty spaces next to Granthurg and DeFrantis, where Thissraelle and Karendle usually sat.

Granthurg shrugged. “Oh, I’m sure the ladies,” he said, raising his brows at the emphasis, “will be along soon. Here! Sit down. Have some potatoes.” He handed a bowl to Eddiwarth.

Yeah. Maybe they’re just running late...

<<<>>>

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106 - “I’m Gone” - Karendle - A Tale of Heroes

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Karendle stepped into the long chamber. The monks, unaccustomed to guests, and even less accustomed to female visitors, had given the three of them this large room in the monastery to be their dormitory. It was long and narrow, with a few chairs and a table right by the door. Further in, along the left, lay three straw mattresses covered with blankets. The back wall had two large windows, which were both currently open, allowing in the occasional hot breeze of the summer afternoon.

Karendle walked in. The first bed was DeFrantis’, then Thissraelle’s. The third was her own. Looking them over, she laughed to herself. Thissraelle, the young high elf, had left her bed in pristine condition, sharply spread and made as if no-one ever slept in it. The blankets and sheets were neatly and tightly tucked under, protecting her sanctuary. Her belongings were not visible, presumably packed neatly away in the trunk next to the bed. Karendle mused that if she were to look inside, she’d see that all of the clothes were neatly folded and carefully stacked.

DeFrantis’ bed, on the other hand, was made, but quickly thrown together. Not really messy, but made like someone who hadn’t slept well, and was more interested in getting to her morning brew and her day’s tasks than making sure things were too neat and tidy.

Karendle stood by her own bed and sighed. The blankets were draped, half on the floor, half off the mattress. Her pillow had fallen between the mattress and the trunk, which was, itself, strewn with the clothing she had worn the day before. One of her sandals lay near the trunk, but the other was several feet away, under a small stool by the window.

She nodded. It’s no wonder I don’t fit in here.

She picked up her blanket and whipped it open onto her bed. She tossed her clothes from the trunk to the blanket, then opened the trunk to remove what few other things she owned. There wasn’t much. Some leggings, another shirt. A cloak, a tunic. She fetched the sandals. All of these went onto the blanket.

She reached under the mattress and pulled out a scabbard and belt. It was made of strong, finely-tooled leather, and had been fitted to her own waist, made for her by the monks of the monastery. They had said it was in gratitude for her help rescuing the children, and as an act of kindness as their guest. She pulled the sword out and held it. She had taken it from the slavers, and kept it as they had fled the manor house in the forest after the rescue. She thought about the days she had spent imprisoned there, along with DeFrantis, chained to a post.

She slid the blade back into the scabbard. She stood and swung the belt around her waist. On the other hip was a small rondel dagger. This was the blade that DeFrantis had pulled from Karendle’s side, saving her life. She shook these thoughts out of her head.

I have to get out of here.

Karendle folded the edges of the blanket over each other, then began tightly rolling it up.

“What are you doing?” Thissraelle’s voice cut through the quiet room.

Karendle jumped up as if she had been caught stealing tarts from the kitchen. She didn’t respond, but continued rolling her blanket.

Thissraelle walked in. She was not tall, even for an elf, and her thin and angular face was framed by long, whispy, light-colored hair. Karendle was muscular and stocky, and she knew that if it came to a physical fight, the elf would be no match. Still, Karendle felt a bit intimidated. She focused on tying the blanket bundle with some twine.

“Are you... leaving?” Thissraelle asked, looking at the sword on Karendle’s hip, and the empty trunk, “What...? Where are you going?”

Karendle tied off the blanket. “I’m going to Dirae,” She mumbled, half to herself, “Then, I’ll get on a barge back to Twynne Rivers. I’ll be out of your way.”

“What? Why?”

Karendle stood and tossed the bundle over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed as she faced Thissraelle. “I have business there!”

“Business? What business?”

Karendle just moved past Thissraelle, toward the door. Thissraelle took in a sharp breath as she realized where Karendle was going. “Karendle! The wizard hunters?”

Karendle stopped and turned around. “Why not? It’s not like I’m learning anything from you! I’m trying what you tell me, but it isn’t working! You don’t get it. I didn’t grow up in the heart of the guild with magic all around me. Life is very different in the mountains! Life is very different for the dwarves!”

Karendle saw Thissraelle’s eyes widen, then go harsh. “I never said anything about--”

Karendle stopped her with a wave of her hand. “I think you’re right. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a mage. Not on my own, anyway.”

She strode out of the room, leaving Thissraelle with her hands out in stunned silence.

<<<>>>

This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
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105 - “Rocks and Stones” - Karendle - A Tale of Heroes

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Karendle let out a guttural grunt as she twisted, throwing her arm in a sweeping circle. A large boulder of limestone flew through the air before her and smashed into a steep rock wall at her left. It shattered into pieces, falling and scattering across the floor of the old quarry. The sound of the stones tumbling on the ground and splashing into the water echoed off the tall straight walls around her.

She looked down at her hand, at the small blue sapphire in her palm. Her breath was quick, her heart pounding hot in her ears. She tightened her fingers and gripped the stone in a fist. With a sharp, fast motion, she pointed at another stone from among those that had been left there on the ground. She felt the tingling power in the gem and willed the larger stone before her to rise. It surged up into the air, shedding the moss, decayed leaves and sticks that had been resting on it. It was a large, roughly carved block, rectangular in shape. She brought her other hand forward, as if gripping it between them. She growled from deep in her throat, and pushed her hands and arms away from her. The block rushed away, following her shove and smashing into another wall. The block cracked in half, and fell down into the water below in two large splashes, with many more smaller stones and chips following.

She didn’t need to shout or grunt. This was not a physical exertion. She threw these boulders with her mind, channeled with the power of the oculus gem in her hand. But making the effort loud helped to dissipate the frustration clouding her mind.

She stood on the edge of the quarry, breathing deep. She was a bit short, even for most women, but taller than most full-blooded dwarves. Her long red hair draped over her right shoulder in a braid. She wore a brown shirt that came down almost to the knees of her leggings, and tied at the waist. She kicked her boots against a stone, knocking it off the edge and into the water.

The quarry was cut into the side of a hill, deep in the forest near the monastery. The gray walls like a giant wound in the woods. It was old, and crusty, but never quite healed. She saw a large block resting on the floor below her and to her right, half-submerged in the pool. She glared at it, furrowing her brow and clenching her teeth. I can move you! I can shatter you, too! 

With a sweep she raised her hands high above her head, and the rock shook, but didn’t follow. The water around it sloshed and rippled, laughing at her.

You WILL move!

She reset her feet, strong, underneath her, repositioned her arms, and with a scowl and a scream, threw the rock up into the air over the quarry, high up above her head, into the canopy of tree branches.

The motion of throwing her arms had shifted her hips, and she slipped on the mossy stone ground, toppling over and landing on her side with a grunt. The block paused at the height of the throw, then fell back. It splashed hard into the water at the end of the quarry and sprayed the walls, and Karendle, with slimy green wetness.

She sat up and looked out over the quarry. It was cut almost like a theater, with the three slightly sloping stone walls facing her. She sat as if on the stage. Below her, and between her and the walls, was a shallow pit, filled with rainwater, now recollecting, at one end. She came here often to practice her magic, moving these stones around. This was where, many years ago, nature powered mages had broken stones away to build the chapel and walls of the monastery where she was living, along with her friends.

Friends. She laughed to herself. These people aren’t my friends!

As soon as she thought that, she knew it wasn’t true. She drew up her knees and dropped her forehead to them. That was just her anger talking. Her frustration.

“Find your will! Find it in your core!” Thissraelle had said. Karendle had been trying to move barrels around the courtyard, using her own mental powers. “See? Like this!” Thisraelle had gestured with her wrist and a large barrel had easily slid along the walkway.

Find it in your core! What in the earth does that mean? No matter how Karendle tried, the only way she could make the magic happen was when she used the oculus. She wanted to learn. She wanted to do it, but her lessons with Thissraelle always seem to end in arguments, in shouting.

She sighed and looked up. She brushed a bit of the pool water off of her cheek. She’s right. I’ll never learn this. I’ll never be a true mage.

She looked at the blue gemstone in her hand. Maybe this is the only way I can do magic. 

She reached to the pouch on her belt, pulled it off, and opened it up. She tossed out the other two stones onto the ground before her. Two smooth but dull gray stones of granite. These were for dimensional powers. I hardly even know what that means, yet.

She set the blue oculus with them. That one gave her mental powers, the ability to move things and see things with her mind. At one point she’d had a ruby, and had used that for striking blasts of magical energy. She’d lost that one when she’d been stabbed by the thief in the slave market.

She looked the stones over. I need more of these. I need another red one, and maybe one of light, or a nature stone. Granthurg has one of those on the barge. Maybe he knows where I can get one.

She picked up one of the gray dimensional stones. I used this one to trap that wizard. I guess he’s still in there, somewhere. When they gave me these stones, they promised me more if I were to bring them captured wizards.

She scooped them all up and put them back in the pouch. She stood and took a deep breath. They wanted me to capture Thissraelle. She sighed the breath out. But she is my friend, after all.

Isn’t she?

Karendle turned around and walked back toward the monastery.

<<<>>>

This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
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104 - “The Welcoming Dawn” - Antonerri - A Tale of Heroes

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The morning sunlight from the small window reached across Antonerri’s chamber and drifted down onto his shoulders. It didn’t take long for it to warm his face and cross the threshold his eyelids held for awakening.  He rolled over, yawned, and stretched before he sat up and raked his fingers back and forth through his hair.

He tossed off his blankets and stood, then sauntered over to the small table with the washbowl. He lifted the pitcher and filled the bowl. As it settled, he could see his reflection in the water. He rubbed his beard. It was coming in quite full. He turned his head from side to side, admiring it. Should I shave?

He wet and soaped a rag from the table and rubbed it all over his cheeks and chin, then picked up the razor next to the bowl, and dipped it in to wet it. As the water settled again, he looked at himself. I don’t know. DeFrantis says she likes it, but it itches, and it’s hot in the summer...

After a moment to consider, he closed the razor and dropped it on the table. He used the rag to wipe his face and clean himself off, then dressed.

He eased down the stairs into the galley, and nodded to the trio of monks who were starting to prepare the mushy grains that would become everyone’s breakfast. Antonerri was not fond of it, but it did help him start the day with a full belly and enough energy to get things done. Around their feet were buckets of fresh milk and baskets of eggs full from the early morning chores. He stepped toward the tables that he knew were at the other end of the room, then stopped.

DeFrantis was there, sitting, with her head leaning into one hand, propped up by her elbow on the table. She was hunched over a potteryware cup with dark brew steaming up into her face. Her hair was strewn into a mess and her eyes stared vacantly into the cup. Her shoulders drooped and her shirt was skewed, like she had not paid attention to how she had put it on.

Oh. She doesn’t look well. This was not how she normally looked at the table. Antonerri was usually there first, able to get the brew started and have her cup waiting for her. I’ll have to handle this delicately.

She didn’t move, didn’t seem to even notice as he approached and stepped behind her. He put his hands gently on her shoulders and leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. She stirred, raising her head and leaning back into him. He smiled, “Good morning, beautiful.”

DeFrantis groaned and sank back down. He kneaded the muscles in her shoulders for a second then turned to the pot to get his own cup of brew. He walked around, sat across from her, and took a tentative sip from his hot cup. “You don’t look like you slept well.”

“I thought you said I was beautiful.”

“Always.”

“I’m not feeling so beautiful today.” She took a longer sip. “You're right. I didn’t sleep well.”

“Another nightmare?”

DeFrantis nodded. “And Marisee also. The poor girl. She asked me to use the shadow. That got her back to sleep. But I remained awake.”

“Can’t you do that magic for yourself?”

DeFrantis sighed, “Yeah, and I have before. It’s very soothing in the moment, but it doesn’t last.” She sipped again, slurping. “In the end, it’s just easier to roll back over and try to sleep.”

Antonerri looked at her sad and exhausted face. His face of hope. The face that had saved him from himself. He smiled, in spite of the situation, and reached across the table to cover her hand in his.

She looked up at him, her eyes dripping. “Antonerri, you were a soldier. How do you do it?”

His brow tightened. “How do I do what?”

“How do you go on, live?” she sniffed. His look was still confused. She went on in a whisper full of shame, “I killed someone! I had a blade in my hand and I used it. I killed! Not just the one. There are others who are dead because of me! How do you ever get over that?”

He set down his cup and took her other hand in his, and looked deep into her pleading eyes. I can’t count how many times I’ve asked myself these same questions. “I wish I could tell you. I could say that I was just following the orders of my officers. I could remind you that you were fighting for the lives of frightened helpless children. I could remind you that the slavers and guards and wizards would have eagerly killed you, and almost did. I could tell you how wonderful it is that you can now be here, alive, with me, and be able to comfort a crying child in the night...”

He leaned in close. “But none of that really answers the question, does it?” She sighed and shook her head.

“I just carry on. I just keep going. The Creator hasn’t ended me yet, despite my best efforts, so there must be some reason. Maybe you’re that reason for me.”

She allowed herself a smile, then leaned into him for a kiss. She slowly stood, picked up her cup, and held out her hand before they walked back to the orphanage.

<<<>>>

This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
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103 - “The Soothing Darkness” - DeFrantis - A Tale of Heroes

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DeFrantis hurried down the hallway toward the child’s voice, shaking the sleep from her head. The lantern she held wobbled back and forth, making shifting shadows before her. She reached out to steady herself on the wooden wall, and half-wondered why the corridor’s floor wasn’t undulating or stretching. She paused for a moment, squeezed her eyes shut, then looked again, seeing more clearly.

OK. The dream’s done, isn’t it? This is real, right? Marisee is still crying. DeFrantis lurched ahead, her walk getting more stable as she awakened. She must’ve had another nightmare, too. When will this be over?

It didn’t take DeFrantis long to reach the hallway of the orphanage wing. The first two doors were the dormitories. Boys on the left, girls on the right. She hurried to the right. The room was long and high, with about a half dozen small beds all along one side. Each was little more than a billowy blanket stuffed with straw spread on the floor, with pillows and blankets above. Wrapped into each one was a young girl. In one, halfway into the room, Marisee was sitting up, crying out. As soon as she saw DeFrantis’ face in the lanternlight, she stopped sobbing and began simply sniffling, wiping her face with her baggy white sleeve.

DeFrantis rushed to her bedside and reached over to hug and soothe Marisee. The girl was small, and frail, probably no older than 7 winters. Her nightdress was someone else’s larger shirt. “Did you have a nightmare?” DeFrantis felt the girl’s head nod against her shoulder, and felt her labored breathing. “It’s OK. I did, too.”

“It was h--horrible! It was a h--huge dragon, like that m--man said! It was going to eat--eat me up in one bite!” her voice trailed off into crying again.

DeFrantis held her close and stroked her hair. “It’s OK. You’re safe now. You’re safe.” Memories passed through her thoughts. Back in Twynne Rivers, there were many nights of frightening dreams. Childhood is full of them. She used to calm the children, and promise that she would always protect them. I can’t say that any more. I can’t always keep that promise. Tears swelled up in her own eyes. I can only promise to fight for you. For the moment, all she could say was a sweet shushing sound as she hugged and rocked the girl back and forth.

In between sobs, Marisee begged, “Can you make it dark?” This simple plea took DeFrantis back to those long nights of fear and sleeplessness in the city. They were usually when the storms would rage around whatever flimsy shelter they had found. Once they had settled into the old chapel, those nights had become less frequent. Maybe it was because it was strong and stable, or maybe because it was a chapel, but it was much easier for the children to sleep there. Still, there was one thing DeFrantis could do when the fright would not go away.

DeFrantis raised her head, closed her eyes, and focused her will. Slowly, the shadows along the wall, under the beds, and down the hall began to swirl and flow toward her. They gathered around the bed, coalescing on the child in her arms. She was quickly engulfed in shadow and darkness, a darkness DeFrantis knew well. She felt the shadow begin to absorb all of the fear, tension, and uncertainty from her, draining them all away. Marisee also relaxed in her arms and stopped crying as the cooling dark swept away her fears.

Within moments, DeFrantis felt the child’s breathing slow to an easy rate, and she knew Marisee was sleeping again. DeFrantis released the shadow, letting it subside, and the room was dim once more, dark, but lit from the lantern at the bedside.

She eased the girl back into the bed, drew up the blankets, and gently stroked her hair from her eyes. Smiling, DeFrantis stood, and picked up the lantern. She walked through the room once, quickly checked on the others, who slept soundly. Then, she returned to the hallway, lingering for only one last checkover at the doorway.

<<<>>>

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102 - “No Forgiveness” - DeFrantis- A Tale of Heroes

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<<<>>>

DeFrantis felt sick.

Her head throbbed, and her arms ached. With an unsteady stumble, she made her way down the corridor. It was dark and empty, and not the kind of welcoming darkness that she always found underneath her blankets as she slept, but a cold and haunting darkness that made it hard to see more than a few steps in front of her.

She leaned against the wall, steadying herself. There was a light. She tried to focus her eyes before her to see what it was. It came into clarity gradually. It was a door, with bright lights shining out from underneath, and through the cracks in the doorway. There. I’ll go there! It’s not far. Then I’ll lie down and rest.

DeFrantis looked at the floor before the door. She leaned forward, and took a step, still touching the wall for support. She stepped again. As she walked, she saw that the door didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Confused, she walked faster, trying to maintain her balance.

She stopped. What’s wrong with the floor? It was fluid and flexible, not firm like it had been moments before. It rippled and stretched below her. She felt the hair on her arms and neck get tense as cold blew down the corridor. What’s happening? What’s going on?

DeFrantis broke into a run, trying to reach the door. She only took a few steps before she fell. Her knees and hands took the brunt of the impact, and it hurt. She tried to stand, but her hands were slippery. Her head drooped, as she gasped for breath. Wait, what’s this in my hands?

She looked. Her hands were coated in blood, and one of them held a small, thin, silver dagger. Blood soaked the floor before her, and it was spattered all over her sleeping gown. She screamed and dropped the dagger.

But it didn’t drop. She still held it in her shaking hands, unable to open her fingers.

She heard a distant cry. A child’s voice. A little girl.  Where is she? Where is that cry coming from? She scrambled to her feet and lunged for the door, flinging it open. The blinding light hurt her head, and she shielded her eyes. A man stood silhouetted in the doorway, towering over her. She screamed again and stumbled back. He raised his hand and pointed at her.

“You.”

“No!” Her eyes adjusted and she saw the chest of his shirt was drenched in red. She looked in his eyes and recognized him.  She screamed again, “NO!”

“It was you!” He leaned forward, but rather than stepping, he fell. DeFrantis jumped back, slipped and landed on the floor as he crumbled, chest down, before her.

DeFrantis heard the child cry again. “I’m coming! I’ll save you!”

Another figure stepped up behind the man. She was not as tall, and not as broad, but somehow, just as forbidding. She was wearing the dress of an older peasant woman, ragged and stained. “You killed him!”

DeFrantis shook her head, but she couldn’t speak. She looked at her bloody hands, and the bloody dagger. She opened her mouth to explain, but said nothing. She couldn’t deny it.

“You killed MY SON!”

“I... I didn’t want to!” DeFrantis stammered, “He was... The children were...”

“What do YOU know of children!” The woman shouted. She grew taller, stretching unnaturally, her hands reaching out toward DeFrantis. “YOU KILLED MY CHILD!”  Her arms and body twisted and snaked toward DeFrantis like thick leather whips, snapping tight. Her hands grabbed DeFrantis’ face and pulled her forward, drawing her nearer. The woman’s distorted face screamed again, “YOU KILLED MY CHILD!” Her fanged mouth opened wide to bite into DeFrantis and tear her apart.

DeFrantis’ body shook with jolts of fear and pain. She twisted, trying to free herself from the grip of madwoman’s hands. She tossed her shoulders, and turned her hips, finally shaking her blanket free. She opened her eyes, gasping for breath, cool summer air from the dark, but open window flowing lightly across her sweaty shoulders and nightgown. Gentle moonlight also streamed in through the window, falling across her legs, and reflecting dimly onto the familiar walls and ceiling of her small chamber. She frantically grabbed the folds of her nightgown and held them up to her gaze. The cloth was white. Her hands were clean. There was no dagger. No screaming mother.

She wiped her hand across her forehead, then over her head, pulling her hair away from her face. Her breathing slowed, eased, and she rested her limbs into her thin and bumpy mattress. She passed her hand over it, then gripped it, tentatively, feeling its reality.

She looked to her left, along the chamber’s wall, and saw other mattresses and blankets, and the peacefully sleeping forms of Karendle and Thissraelle. She could hear Karendle snorting soflty.

From down the hallway, DeFrantis noticed a child was crying.

<<<>>>

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101 - “Dancing on the Roof” - Parith - A Tale of Heroes

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<<<>>>

“I found out that this part of the city is called the ‘Outer Wall’, I guess because it’s outside the wall.” Parith spoke as he deftly stepped through the night air, along the ridgeline of a rooftop. He walked with a lightness, as his feet and balance were secure. Behind him, Korr followed, but not as quickly, and with much less confidence.

“Hold, friend.” Korr said, waving his arms for balance, “How do you do this so easily? In the darkness of night, I can’t see where my feet go, and I’m not so nimble!”

“I told you, I grew up in Umbrawood Forest,” Parith explained, “So this is a lot like walking through the branches in the trees.”  He came to the end of the roof, and stopped for a moment. Korr caught up to him, and Parith continued, “That, And it’s always dark in the forest. That’s why it’s called Umbrawood.” The building next to him was close, and just a bit higher, so it was easy for him to step up and over, onto it.

As he walked, with little conscious attention to his balance, he talked. “I’m a wood elf, right? And we all make our villages up in the trees. For a while, I spent some time guiding the human traders through the forest. They would come from Twynne Rivers, travelling through the forest to Umbrawood City in the west. It was a good living, but I thought it would be exciting to see Twynne Rivers for myself!” He paused again, to let Korr catch up. “I’ve only been here about a month or so, but I think I’m blending in.”

It was a hot night, not long after the midsummer celebrations had passed. While it was dark, the three-quarter moon provided some illumination. The roof of the pub they were on was a bit taller than the other shops and buildings around them, affording them a view over the sprawling city. They could see rooftops and smoking chimneys dotted by lanterns shining through windows onto the streets and alleys. In this section of the Outer Wall, near the main road out of Twynne Rivers, the buildings were stronger, and very close together. Within a few streets, the firm rooftops gave way to thatching and other, less permanent, shelters. Occasionally, the cityscape was interrupted by a taller structure, like a two-story inn, or a chapel bell tower.

“Over there is the wall.” Parith pointed the other way. Korr looked and saw the dark and forbidding barrier spanning his field of vision. It was taller than most of the buildings around them, but Korr could see spires and points beyond its parapets. The wall itself was interrupted from time to time by a guard tower, illuminated at the top and from the windows with the steadily glowing oculus gems. Few living in the Outer Wall could afford that kind of lamp.

“On the other side is the Inner Wall. It’s a much nicer part of the city. I’ve been able to sneak in a few times. But we’re going this way!” Parith said, jumping the short distance to another rooftop, and crawling up to the crest. He stood, and gestured to Korr to follow.

Korr stood on the other roof, skeptical of his ability to make the leap. Leaning into it, he jumped and landed clumsily, but safely. Then, he rose up with caution and climbed up to where Parith waited. “Why are we not just walking on the street?”

“Are you kidding?” Parith began walking along the roofline. “It’s not safe!”

“And this acrobatic balancing act is?”

“Hey, it’s getting us where we want to go.”

“And where is that?”

Parith paused and pointed to a slightly taller structure not too many houses away. It was a chapel with a steeple and a bell. “See? Nice. Cozy. And it won’t cost us three silver a night!”

The next rooftop was closer and didn’t require quite the jump.

“Why are you in the city?” Parith asked.

Korr reached down for a moment to steady himself. “I’ve been charged with a task. I’m to deliver a message.”

“Really? Who to?”

“I’m looking for a man named Heathraxx. I have a message for him from my master.”

“Who is Heathraxx?”  They stopped. They had come to edge of the current rooftop, and were right up against the chapel. Parith looked up at the steeple. To get to the open bell area, they would have to jump up and catch the roof edge, crawl up the slope, then climb the last way into the tower. Parith looked at his companion.

Korr had a incredulous look on his face. “I have no idea.”

<<<>>>

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100 - “The View From Above” - Parith - A Tale of Heroes

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<<<>>>

Oh, my flames! Have you ever seen anyone fight like that?

Parith Laren looked down on the surprised people in Inn’s common area from the darkened space in the rafters and cross beams above. He watched the tall, oddly-dressed human talking to the ones that he had been fighting just moments before.

He had been sitting at a table in the corner just before the fight broke out. His short time in Twynne Rivers had shown him that it was pretty diverse, especially in the merchant and riverfront quarters, but still, there weren’t so many elves. In addition, this part of the city wasn’t the wealthiest or the most patrolled, either.

So, when the shouting started, his first thought was to get out of the way. That, and when all of the humans stood up to gawk at the fight, he had to find a better vantage point.

Next to the table where he had been sitting was a large, square, wooden pillar, supporting the beams and rafters where the ceiling and roof are attached. He had leapt onto the table, the up at the pillar. He pushed off the pillar and launched himself up onto one of the beams. From there, it had been easy to jump from one to the other to get to a place where he could see clearly. It reminded him of jumping from branch to branch in the forest canopy of his home in Umbrawood. Fortunately, everyone was too transfixed by the drama unfolding below to pay any attention to a quick elf in the smoky darkness above.

Parith saw the peasant man toss the stolen pouch to its original owner, then slip between people in the crowd as everyone watched to see what the tall man would do. Surprisingly, all he did was help the other man up, the man he had just thrown to the ground like yesterday’s garbage, and give him a quick bow of the head. Then, everyone gave him a wide passage as he stepped over to his table and sat down.

The drama was over, but no one was quite sure what to do. Gradually, they all returned to their seats, and the murmur of conversation returned, though what they were talking about was definitely not the same as before. As the innkeepers also began serving the tables again, Parith looked over the scene from his unique perspective.

Now, how am I going to get down from here without drawing any attention?

Parith glanced over at the table where he had been sitting before. Aw, flameit! My pouch and pole are there, unguarded! He began leaping through the rafters. On his second jump, he misjudged his footing on the landing, slipping and losing his balance. He swung his arms to steady himself, and slammed his knee into a heavy wooden rafter. The pain shot through his leg, and he clenched his teeth to not cry out. His swinging arms grabbed another rafter and held on. He steadied himself, wincing as the pain subsided into a dull throb. Good thing I didn’t fall. That would be all I’d need, to have everyone attacking the sneaky wood elf in the ceiling.

Steadied, he made the last few jumps to be above his table, then, after assuring himself that the general attention of the inn patrons was elsewhere, quickly slid down the pillar and sat down. He picked up his drink and took a sip as he glanced around to make sure nobody had been watching. His gaze settled on the stranger who had won the fight.

I think I need to meet that guy!

He emptied his tankard in a long drink, then stood and walked around his table toward the man.

<<<>>>

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99- “How to Stop a Thief” - Korr - A Tale of Heroes

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<<<>>>

Korr was a tall man, a human, and a bit lanky. His shoulders were narrow, and unmuscular. His thin face was topped with long, dark brown hair that was pulled tightly back and tied behind his head.  His dress was not like the others in the inn, having the look of a man who didn’t need much. His shirt, almost a jacket, was simple, tan, and loose, hanging down past his hips. The sleeves were a bit wide and open, and ended just below the elbow in darker brown trim. His leggings were also very loose, but didn’t reach even his ankles. His feet were clad in a simple woven leather sandal.

He stood, hands together, bowing respectfully to the people staring at him. They had never seen anyone fight like he did. It’s true there were good swordsmen in the realm, particularly among the Holy Guard. But to watch someone take on three assailants, including one with a blade, using only his bare hands and feet had been a sight to see.

When a motion caught Korr’s glance, he looked over toward the thin man who had been attacked first. Korr saw him moving away, between the tables. “Stop!” Korr commanded, and the man froze, tense.

Slowly, the poor peasant turned around, and said, with a hesitant voice, “Ah... Thank you?”

The man on the floor, that Korr had defeated, moaned and lifted himself up on his arms. He shook his head, and began to get up on one knee.

Korr pointed first at the thin peasant standing at the table, then spoke with an even, measured voice. “You - you must give him...,” Korr pointed to the man on the floor, “...his purse back.”

The peasant looked at Korr, surprised. “I don’t have... I didn’t take...”

Korr calmly pointed again, “It’s under your shirt.”

“But, I... I didn’t... But you were protecting me!”

“I stepped in because no one should be killed for the value of a purse with a few coins.” Korr explained, “But no one should steal someone else’s purse, either.” The man on the floor looked at the two of them, not sure what was happening.

The silence was as heavy as the smoke in the air. Eyes darted from Korr, to the thief, to the man on the floor, and back again. Finally, the thief’s shoulders sank, and he reached under his belt and up into his shirt. He pulled out the small leather pouch and, with resignation, tossed it to the man he had stolen it from. It clinked as it hit the kneeling man’s chest, who reacted just in time to catch it. He still wasn’t sure he understood what he was seeing or hearing.

By the time Korr glanced back at the thief, he was gone. He stepped over to the man on the floor, and offered him a hand, pulling him up. Again, Korr bowed slightly, and returned to his seat.

<<<>>>

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98 - “How To Not Stop a Thief” - Maan Korr - A Tale of Heroes

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<<<>>>

“Give me my money!”

Maan Korr looked up from his ale. Through the dim, smoky air of the inn, across the tables, he saw a tall, muscular man in a dirty, dull gray tunic push another, slightly smaller man. The angry man shouted again, “You took my purse! Give it back!”

“I don’t take anything,” The smaller man fearfully protested, trying to keep his balance. His clothes were also worn, but a bit worse off than his assailant. He looked weaker and thinner, like he hadn’t had the recent good fortune to eat as much as the others there had.

The people in the common room went quiet and stared. Several moved away from the two, giving them room. Would they all see a good entertaining fight? It looked a little mismatched, but even an unfair matchup can be fun to watch sometimes. The inn was busy that night. In the slums of Twynne Rivers’ Outer Wall quarter there isn’t much money, but there isn’t much to do on a hot summer night, either.

Korr watched the two closely. The angry man pushed at the thin man again, who tried to avoid the shove. Korr saw uncertainty and caution in his eyes. As others around began murmuring among themselves, two more men stood up and began circling the thin man. He reached out with one arm, turning as the moved, trying to keep them all distant. He held his other hand close to his side, protectively. “Now, friends...,” He started to say, “friends, it’s all fine...”

“Oh, no. It’s not fine at all!” the angry man shouted. They circled around the common area of the inn, and at one point passed close to Korr’s table. As they did, the original occuser lunged toward the thin, frail man and pushed him hard. He fell backward onto the table, making Korr slide his chair away. The angry man pressed forward toward the thin man on the table, pulling back to attack. There was a flash of light reflecting off of metal in his hands.

Korr saw the dagger and instinctively leapt to his feet. As the attacker stabbed forward, Korr twisted and reached in, blocking the thrust and spinning the man to face him. Korr’s right hand shot under his own blocking arm. The heel of his palm hit the man square in his chest, knocking him backward, staggering from the impact and gasping for breath.

Korr moved to step forward. Wait. Stop. Don’t jump in so fast. Remember. Set your stance.

He stood tall, then with force, set his feet on the floor. In the square. Low center. Remember the forms. His feet resounded on the wooden floor as he planted himself firm in the new position. His thin arms moved squarely across his chest, and settled into fists at his side.

Assess. Be aware. He saw the look of surprise become rage on the attacker’s face, and the two who were backing him up turned to face Korr. With a shout, the attacker lunged at Korr, thrusting the blade at his gut. Korr swept his own right fist low, up, and around the incoming blade hand, turning it aside. He stepped into the thrust and grabbed the attackers wrist. Korr’s left hand landed a solid hit down across his back, throwing him off balance over Korr’s leg and dropping him hard on the floor. With a quick twist, Korr forced the man’s hand open, and his dagger fell with a clang.

Korr stepped away. Good, good. Now reset the stance! Be at peace! Find control!

He began shifting his feet into the square, but before he could prepare his hand forms, an impact sent waves of pain through his back and ribs. His head and back arched with the hit, but his feet held firm. I let my guard down!

Korr spun on his backward foot, leaning into his swinging elbow, and brought it sharply into the side of the man’s head. The impact jolted him back, arms wide. Korr quickly set his feet, and let fly two rapid fist jabs to the man’s chest, dropping him backward onto some chairs.

Korr recentered himself and turned to survey the room. The onlookers were staring at him, keeping their distance. He faced the remaining assailant, planted his feet, and slowly settled his body low, with his fists to his side in readiness. The man lifted his palms and slowly backed into the crowd.

Korr shifted his feet to look around the full circle of the crowd, and, assured that no one else was leaping into the fight, relaxed his stance. He shook out the twists in his shirt, and nodded a quick bow to the crowd.

He saw a motion from the corner of his eye.

<<<>>>

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97 - “Making the Magic Work” - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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<<<>>>

Granthurg leaned forward on his knees, leaning over the gem set into the stern of the barge. Rinkmorr used to make this work. For him, it was so easy. I always wanted to know how, but he never wanted to tell me.

He remembered Thissraelle explaining how magic worked, and how the Oculi Creator, the “Eyes of the Creator”, helped. She had been teaching Karendle, and not getting very far. Granthurg had seen them, and listened in.

“Magic is all around us. Most people know that it exists, but have no idea where to find it or how to access it. But it’s there, all the time. Wizards and mages learn how to use the force of their own will to draw out the power and use it. If you focus and concentrate, you can make it do almost anything.”

“Anything?” Karendle was more than a bit incredulous.

“Yes, well, some things are harder than others, and they require more will. Once you use up your will, you’re done with magic until you rest up and replenish. The more a wizard grows and learns, the deeper their will grows, too, so they can do more and more.”

Granthurg had stepped in. “When we first met, you talked about different kinds of magic, but I didn’t really understand it then...”

“Yeah, there are six different powers. Usually, a mage will study one, or at most, two.  I can do a bit in three of them right now. The power of light is my personal favorite.” As she spoke, she’d held out her hand and a brightly glowing ball of light formed in her upturned palm. Karendle averted her eyes from the brightness, but wanted to stare into it. “I mostly use it to heal and to bless, but it can be used in a fight, too. It’s what Antonerri used to light up his sword as we were battling in the manor house last month.” She had flicked her wrist and the light was gone.

Granthurg had asked about the other powers, and she had explained them all. She said that she had used her mental powers when they had fought the slavers outside the market. That’s how she had levitated herself into the fight, and the powers of her mind had thrown them down. That was also, she had explained, how she had found DeFrantis and Karendle, when they had been captured and reached out to her. Then, she had used her dimensional power to open a portal so they could step into the fight and join in.

She had also explained that Eddiwarth had used striking power to start the fire in the manor, and that was also how the evil slaver mage had attacked Antonerri so fiercely. DeFrantis, she had said, knew how to use shadow power, and had used the darkness’ influence over life and death to heal Karendle when she was dying on the floor of the slave market.

“Eventually, I want to learn them all.” Thissraelle had said, “I know the least about natural powers. That allows you to shape and use the things of nature around you, like water, trees, life, stone, air...”

It clicked for Granthurg. “That’s how Rinkmorr healed me, and how he drove the barge!”

“Yes. And the oculus gem in the back of the barge serves as a focus, as a boost of his own will.”

“That’s what I need to learn!” Granthurg had said, “Can you teach me that?”

Now he knelt over the hatch in the platform, looking down at the stone. He took a deep breath, sighed and held his hand out over it. Thissraelle had said that it sometimes helps your concentration.

Granthurg closed his eyes, and let his consciousness sink deep. His mind focused on the stone. He wanted it to work, to make the water move beneath the barge. He wanted it to move the barge. He wanted it to...

Nothing was happening. He opened his eyes and looked down past the oculus into the water below. The water flowed with the normal run of the river under the docks.

He repositioned himself, closed his eyes again, and focused, seeing his own will. Thissraelle had said to find that first, then to flow it through the stone.

He suddenly felt a sharp warmth inside him, as an awakening, or a brightness. That’s it! That must be it!

He directed that out of his chest, through his arm, and down at the stone. He could feel it course through him. Opening his eyes, he could see nothing. His arm was tingling with the warmth, but it looked the same.

Then he heard the churning of the water below the barge, and felt the barge move underneath him. It jerked toward the stern, then yanked the tether lines taught jarring Granthurg off his knees and almost toppling him into the water.

He laughed out loud! By the Creator, it worked! It worked! He leaned over the stern of the barge and could see the water splashing as the magic moved it, and tried to move the barge.

A nervous thought crossed his mind. Now how do I stop it?

<<<>>>

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96 - “An Old Friend” - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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<<<>>>

Granthurg stepped off the pier and onto the barge. This was the boat he knew, that had been his home for so many seasons, so many years. He and Rinkmorr had driven it up and back, east and west, all along the two Wynne rivers. Granthurg had loaded crates, bags, and barrels, only to unload them and sell them in the next town along the river. He could say it was his barge, but he didn’t dare call it his own.

The sun had set, and the only light was from the one forward oculus gem hanging from a pole on the bow. The river gave off a familiar musty smell that ne only noticed when he thought about it, or, like tonight, when he hadn’t been to the waterfront in a while.

He slowly walked along the side railing, running his hand across the smooth and weathered wood. It was not a new barge, by any means, but it was still sturdy. Its timbers creaked as the river water rocked it gently in its sleep by the pier.

He had done some work on it since it had been berthed there at Dirae. He had cleaned up all of the broken and scattered crates and cargo, after someone had tossed through it all, looking for the dragon dagger. The few boxes remaining were now neatly secured under new tarps, awaiting a chance to be sold in another town.

Another town? Where will I be going? Thissraelle said she wants to go further west, to get to Emberfire. She doesn’t seem to be in much of a hurry to leave the monastery, though.

His hand felt a change in the railing as he moved sternward. He paused, feeling the difference. Here was a bit of new wood. This was a section of the railing that Granthurg had replaced, after the fight. That was when they left Twynne Rivers, when the men came looking for Rinkmorr. That was the last time he had seen Rinkmorr.

I had just barely met DeFrantis and Antonerri. Then, suddenly, we were all swept away into trying to find the children. He chuckled to himself. It’s odd how things change.

He stepped up onto the steering platform, and looked back over the barge. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened to Rinkmorr, but it was strange looking at the barge and thinking that it might not see his friend and boss again. He shook that possibility out of his mind.

It’s odd how things change.

He knelt down, and unlocked the hatch on the floor at the back of the platform. He lifted up the small hinged plank and peered into the shadows below. In the dim light, he could barely make out what he knew was there, what he had seen dozens of times. It was a green and brown gem of finely polished jade, just a little smaller than his fist. It was braced in place over the water by a crosspiece of wood, and held there by a band of iron, bolted to the boards.

Alright, let’s see if I can do this.

<<<>>>

This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox, Genevieve Springer!

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95 - “Sending a Message” - Granthurg - A Tale of Heroes

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Late in the day, the hot summer sun was finally drooping down behind the horizon, sending reds and purples across the bottoms of the few high clouds in the sky over Dirae. The last of the street vendors along the waterfront were gathering up their wares, and the glow of lanternlight was starting to shine in the windows of the pubs and inns along the street. The few trade barges that were there at the docks that day were being tied securely in place.

Granthurg sat at a public table above the piers along the waterfront, just above his own barge. They had been built and set there by the town for the convenience of the river runners. These were the ones that drove the trade barges up and down the Wynne River, from the elvish lands in the northwestern forests and swamps, through the city of Twynne Rivers, and on to Portstown on the eastern coast. The southern fork of the Wynne, or the Lesser Wynne, also came from the west, but further south, out of the mountains.

His thoughts drifted along the river. I miss Graemalan. My city. I need to go back. I need to see my family, my home.

The Graemal mountains were high, sharp, and rocky. Granthurg pictured them in his mind. The sight of them is probably what inspired the name. It meant “Dragon’s Teeth” in a more ancient version of the Giantish language. Many times, as he and Rinkmorr rode the waters of the Lesser Wynne upriver toward them, he would see the peaks rise up over the hills and meadows of the landscape.

Rinkmorr. My boss, my friend, my brother. Where are you? What’s happened to you?

Granthurg looked down at the table before him. It was small and uncomfortable. It would probably have been fine for a human, but it was a bit clumsy for a giant. It had been built by humans, to be used by the river runners, who were mostly giants, like Granthurg and Rinkmorr. He smiled as he thought about it. Humans don’t always think things through that way.

The magical oculus gem on a tall post above him began to glow in the encroaching twilight, shining down over the street and the table. On the table before him was a single sheaf of paper, unrolled. Next to that was an unrolled leather pouch with Granthurg’s writing supplies.

With a breath, he twisted open the tight cork lid of the ink jar and set it aside, picking up the reed pen.  He dipped it and wrote.

Rinkmorr.

Greetings. I hope this letter finds you well. 

I am also well, if a bit confused. The last time we spoke, you were quite worried about something, and told me to take the barge west, along the northern Wynne. You told me that you would meet up with me. You were a bit rushed at the time, and I was a more than a bit baffled, so I didn’t have the presence of mind to set a meeting date or place. 

I’ve been waiting for you upriver in Dirae for over a month, now, and have not seen any sign of you coming this way. I’ve asked a few of the rivermen that have come from Twynne Rivers if they’ve seen you, and none of them have, or they didn’t know you.

I fear for your safety. At the time of our departure, you said that there was something that someone wanted. I’ll not talk about that in detail, since I’ve learned that there are people willing to kill for it, and I don’t want to put you in any further possible danger. At least, no more than you’re possibly already facing.

Dirae is, for the moment, peaceful. I would encourage you to make your way here and rest, and we can come to decide what you would like to do next.

Your friend and help,

Granthurg.

He let the ink dry for a moment, then rolled the paper into a thin scroll, pressing it flat. On it, he wrote: Rinkmorr, Riverman, The Old Steersman Inn, the WaterFront Quarter. He slipped the letter into a folded leather cover and tied the binding cords tight.

He stood, and carried it down the pier.

Granthurg called out to one of the other giants on a barge. “Hey, friend. You said earlier that you were traveling to Twynne Rivers. Do you do courier work?”

“I do, for a silver shard.”

Granturg stepped forward and handed him the pouch and a half-coin. “Here you go. Thanks.”

<<<>>>

This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
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94 - “A Bad Report” - Tonklyn - A Tale of Heroes

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<<<>>>

By the time they finished their search of the grounds, stables, larder, and the winery, the sun was set and darkness was closing in. They began to set up a small encampment in the grass between the buildings.

Tonklyn returned to the manor house, and stood again in the great hall, trying to assess what had happened. The oculus hanging from the end of his staff lit the room very dimly, allowing him to only barely make out the shapes of things in the space.  He will not be pleased.

As he thought this, the warm summer air was suddenly blown through with a chilling wind. This was a wind that Tonklyn knew well, and feared. The wind picked up dust and clutter in a swirling vortex at one end of the hall. Darkness gathered around it, as if the wind was sucking the shadows themselves off of the walls and the floor, and blending it with the ash, dirt, and sticks being blown through the air. Slowly, the dark took form and the winds eased. The shifting mists coalesced into a large body with huge black shoulders, out of which grew a long, shifting neck, ending with a large dragon’s head.

Tonklyn immediately dropped to one knee. “Lord Kirraxal, My Master!”

The misty, shadowy, swirly dragon head focused directly on Tonklyn and spoke with a voice that hissed and reverberated through the shadows, “And what is it that won’t be pleasing to me?”

“There is much to report,” Tonklyn began, uncertain how to explain.

“Yes. Well. Go on, and report it.”

Tonklyn sighed, and bowed lower.

“SPEAK! It has taken much of my will to reach out to you, and my patience is low as well!”

“The Dragon’s Flame Chapter here is gone! The manor is a burned out hulk of a building.” Tonklyn took a deep breath. “And we only found five bodies.”

“Five!” The dragon roared, “Five? That chapter had over a dozen men!”

“Yes, my liege. There are signs of a struggle. There are no prisoners. No children, only empty shackles.”

The smoky dragon head looked from side to side. “Did you find the blade?”

Tonklyn shook his head, and mumbled, “No, sire.”

“SPEAK UP!”

“No, My Liege!” Tonklyn held his breath, then, “Nor the books. The treasury was empty as well!”

“And the stables?”

“Also empty.” The wind began to blow through the ruins again, whipping Tonklyn’s cloak and hair into his face.

“So.” The voice rasped with barely controlled rage, “There was a fight, and the prisoners escaped. Whoever was left decided that there was no point in staying, and made off with what they thought was valuable.”

“So it would seem, Sire.”

“And they didn’t think it wise to SEND ME NOTICE!”

Tonklyn struggled to maintain his position on the floor as the wind spiraled around him. “Apparently not, Sire.” He shouted, above the noise.

The winds blew and the mists darkened, and Tonklyn felt his heart racing with fear. Oh, this is it. It’s all over. I’m done for. He held his hands in front of his face as dust and debris flew past him. The rushing in his ears was deafening and he sank low to keep stable.

Then, as quickly as they had risen, the winds calmed and the shadows fell, back into the walls and the corners of the room. The dragon began to lose its shape, dissipating into the breeze. As it faded, it hissed, “We will deal with them as we find them. They have failed me for the last time. This is but one insignificant chapter of The Dragon’s Flame, and there are many more. Those in Twynne Rivers are preparing. You will leave to go to them with all haste in the morning. You, alone, have served me well, at the very least.”

The dust settled, the tumultuous winds calmed, and silence returned. Only the calls of the forest birds could be heard. Tonklyn raised his face, then his shoulders. He stood and dusted off his cloak. He picked up his staff and steadied the shining oculus hanging from the tip. He slowly walked out of the hall and into the yard. There he saw the incredulous and horrified faces of his guard.

“Well, then. I guess you heard. We’ll leave in the morning.” He swallowed hard, then stepped past them, toward his tent. “Sleep well.”

<<<>>>

This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox, Genevieve Springer!

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Start the whole story from the beginning. Start from where this current story arc begins. Start from where the current story part begins